Slings and Shackles

Slings and Shackles - Chapter 3

Slings and Shackles

© 2021

by

Jonathan Longhorn

Copyright © 2021 by Jonathan Longhorn (jonathan_longhorn at yahoo dot com). All rights reserved. Except for the use of less than two pages in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means is forbidden without the express written permission of the author. Express permission is granted to The Nifty Erotic Stories Archive for storage, indexing, retrieval, and display of this work.

Disclaimer: The material in this work is for mature audiences only and contains graphic sexual content and language. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older. All of the characters in this work are assumed to be at least 18 years of age.

Warning: This story contains scenes of intense BDSM domination and submission. Please read another of my stories if intense BDSM bothers you.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and settings are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, names, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. In the real world having sex without using a condom can be very dangerous to your health. Don’t ruin your life or your future. Slip it on before you slide it in.

All trademarks used in this work are the sole property of their owners and have been used without permission or endorsement.

Chapter 3

You won’t know what hit you.

What the hell did Kent mean by that? I knew that I asked for something to be added to that bourbon but….

I watched Logan as he sat at the desk on the far side of his dressing room. He was very intent at his task, evidenced by the crease of his forehead at his eyebrows and his tongue making the occasional run along his lip.

“Working on the agenda for tonight’s ‘scene’?”

“Yep,” Logan responded without looking up. The ‘p’ of his one-word response seemed to resound like a cork popping out of a champagne bottle.

“You’re seriously not going to tell me what you and Kent are going to do to me? Not even a hint,” I asked. Challenging Logan’s lack of information.

“Nope.” Another cork popping sound as he said the ‘p’ part of his response.

I let out a snort.

Logan glanced up from his laptop. His head tilted slightly as his eyes did a complete search of my body. Well, the front side anyway.

“You’re giving yourself to me and Kent tonight, Boonie. You’re a sub. A proper sub doesn’t question his Dom, or—Doms in this case. You keep quiet. You trust. You rely on your Doms to know what is best and when it is best under the circumstances.” He looked back to his laptop for a moment and then back up at me. “You’re going to be fully dominated by us and you are going to completely submit to us. Period. That is ‘all’ you need to know.”

My mouth opened and snapped shut. Several times. Logan was right of course. I was their sub tonight. My only focus should be submission. Period. But the Total Alpha Top Dom that ‘is’ me, wanted to question Logan’s message. However, I knew better. Logan wouldn’t budge in his resolve. I might as well be taking on a rabid polar bear.

“Black leather,” I commented as my eyes were suddenly drawn to an outfit in the corner. Black leather vest. Black leather pants. Hanging from a hook next to a 7’ tall dressing mirror. Black biker boots sat below the outfit.

“Yep,” Logan responded. Another champagne cork pop of that ‘p’ in the word. “High paying ticket holders are going to want a full performance out of the scene we’re presenting. Even the wardrobe. Black leather is what they want even though I usually just wear black slacks or the like. As you know, since that’s more your wardrobe when you’re pulling a scene.”

I nodded. Yeah, that was more my style. I would wear the boots. That just seemed like a Dom requirement. But I preferred black slacks or black 501s and a black t-shirt or button up. A weird thought lightninged through my brain. I zeroed back in on those black leather pants. His balls would be sweating and dripping like Victoria Falls.

Logan sweating profusely would not be unexpected. His intensity. His concentration. His silk-smooth, almost mechanical—robot-like maneuvers…. He had a tendency to be glistening with sweat in a short period of time. A sweat glistening 6’3” thickly muscled Dom seemed ‘right’ somehow. Almost like a Roman gladiator after he won the siege in his own ‘arena’.

“What do you and Kent want me to wear,” I asked as I pulled back from my musings.

Before Logan could respond there was a series of taps on the dressing room door. Tap, Tap, Tap. Pause. Tap. Pause. Tap and tap. Kent was back. That sequence of ‘taps’ was something the three of us shared and used when we approached one or the other’s dressing room or a private room where they were conducting a scene. We pretty much had carte blanche to enter one another’s space without question. ‘If’ the Dom on the other side of the door needed a moment for whatever reason, he would simply deliver a ‘wait’ and that would be all that was needed. We would wait until he came back with ‘enter’ at his discretion.

Didn’t happen often. I have actually walked in on Master Logan or Master Kent fucking a sub’s brains into creamed peas.

Kent came through the door in his outfit for the night. He would be dressed similar to Logan. Black leather pants with extra loops coming off both hips—for tools of the trade during a scene—like a flogger, a whip, electro wand, etc. Kent was wearing black Doc Marten 1460’s and he topped it off with a black leather vest, three chains holding it loosely closed so it didn’t restrict his movements but each side didn’t flap around enough to get in the way of what he was doing. He had a black leather band snugly hugging his left bicep.

Wow. His biceps. His chest, beautifully plated with a splash of ginger to match the hair on his head. Those razor-cut abs and a fine trail disappearing into those pants. He was genuine perfection.

I noticed the snugness of those leather pants. Kent’s enormous cock was snaked down his left thigh and the impressive size of his balls was hard to miss. The pants hugged his ass perfectly. Tight but loose enough for freedom of movement during a scene. His pro baseball player build was fully in view through his wardrobe selection. Kent was a stud. No question. No doubt. He had a body to die for.

Kent had what I asked for. He bypassed the usual glass of choice for a bourbon since I requested a quadruple double of his best. He had a 16-ounce ice tea glass filled nearly to the brim of the tawny brown liquid. He also had a small vial that he pulled out of his right pant pocket. He sat the glass on a small table not far from where I was still bound to the wall.

“Height? 6’1” right,” Kent asked.

“And a half,” I responded. These two guys were bigger, taller than me, so I needed to point out every centimeter that I could.

“And a half, it is,” Kent said with a grin. He separated a capsule and let its contents drop into the glass. “Weight?”

“190,” I said. I wondered what he had decided on as an accompaniment to the bourbon. He nodded as he wrote down my response and then pulled apart another capsule and dumped its contents inside.

Kent paused and looked at me. His eyes dripped down my body all the way to my feet and then slowly back upward. Once he got to my eyes, he locked in.

“Any underlying health conditions that Logan and I should know about?”

This was kind of a standard question and answer mode that all three of us used with a sub, whether new or returning. The sub’s health was paramount. And even if it was a returning sub, we asked the same questions to be sure to take note of any changes.

I shook my head.

“Seasonal cedar pollen,” I said. “This is the wrong season for that, though.”

“In visual inspection, ‘sub’ appears to be a healthy, well-developed male. Pre-30 years of age. There are no outward signs of injury, surgical procedures, bruising, lumps.” He pulled apart yet another capsule and poured its contents into the glass. “Subject is responsive, alert, showing no signs of stress.”

Logan was typing all of this into his laptop as Kent questioned me. They both wanted an up to date notation about my condition. Because I was their friend. Because they were mine. Because I was going to sub for both of them tonight. Because this would be my first time as a sub.

Kent paused what he was doing with my drink and grabbed a blood pressure cuff and attached it to a wall-mounted system. He reached up and uncuffed my left arm, bringing it down to regular stance. He took several moments to massage my forearm and bicep before he wrapped the cuff around my bicep and took my blood pressure. He called out the results so that Logan could make note. He followed that with my breath intake, and heart rate. Logan made note of those as well. All was well within ‘normal’ range, although my heart rate was slightly elevated. Not surprising, under the circumstances. I was nervous.

Kent looked at his watch—I could see his mental calculations going on—and then at me. He used a spoon to stir the bourbon and whatever he added to it and then stepped up to me. My left arm was still uncuffed so he handed it to me.

“Are you sure you want to go this far?” Kent looked so deeply into my eyes I could swear he was scouring my soul. “You don’t have to….”

“Yes,” I interrupted. I appreciated that he cared. However, ‘I’, ‘we’ had to do this. For those kids. “I have to do whatever it takes.”

Kent nodded. He might not fully agree with going this far to aid the community center but he understood my conviction.

“Drink up. Don’t dawdle.”

Dawdle? Whatever. I drank it down in a short minute or two.

When I had drained the glass, receiving a ‘good boy’ from Kent, I looked across the room to see that Logan was changing into his outfit. His boots were clean. Not glossy but nicely polished. Like Kent, he slipped into black leather pants and stuffed his long, thick cock into the crotch along with cathedral bell looking balls. He pulled off his shirt and slipped into the leather vest and fastened it with a couple of hooks and clasps. He slid a studded black gauntlet over his left forearm.

Okay. I’ll say it. Straight or not. Alpha Top Dom or not. He. Looked. Hot. As. Fuck. They both did.

Once he was dressed for the scene, Logan grabbed a bag and a few other items from the right side drawer of his desk, under the laptop’s printer. He walked across the room to stand beside Kent.

“How many hits did you give him,” I heard him ask. It was nearly inaudible as he turned his head. Kent said something which I didn’t catch as it was spoken just as low and Logan’s hulking body was between my ears and Kent’s words. However, I did hear the word ‘soaring’ in Kent’s response. I might have been wrong but I think I made out that word anyway.

“Give him another hit,” Logan said as he looked over his shoulder and stared at me for a moment. “He can take it.”

“You got it,” Kent responded and pulled a flask out of another pocket. He went to work on this new concoction.

Logan walked up to me. He studied me for several long moments. His eyes dripped down and back up. Down. Up. Down. And, up. He proceeded to pull a studded black leather collar out of the cloth bag he was carrying.

“Lean your head forward.”

I did.

“You’re intent on taking this all the way to the end,” Logan said. Statement or question, it caused a tremor to quake down my spine. “No matter any…possible…outcome.”

I fell into that gaze for several seconds. It was curious. I somehow sensed how his subs felt as they headed for a scene with Master Logan. I had to force my way back out of those eyes.

“No matter the possible outcome,” I replied. Logan nodded. “Do it.”

Logan wrapped the collar around my neck, pulled it snug and then reached back into the bag. At the same time, Kent handed me the glass, not as full this time and I drank the bourbon and whatever he mixed into it—draining it for a second time.

Next, Logan came out with a small padlock with a key hanging in it’s core. He turned the key, unlocked it and slid the lock into a hook on the clasp of the collar. I felt his knuckles rubbing over my throat as he manipulated the collar and the lock. I made a nervous swallow.

“Easy boy,” Logan said quietly but with authority. He was already stepping into ‘Dom mode’. “We got you.”

I nodded slowly and then I felt the lock snap into place.

One of my two best friends had just collared me. This was getting real, real fast.

Logan reached into the bag once again and brought out a brushed surgical stainless steel contraption.

Oh shit!

I looked at him. He saw the question in my eyes.

“You’re a sub, Boonie. At least for tonight,” he said very sternly. “We have no use for your clitoris tonight so it might as well be caged.”

My clitoris? What the fuck! I am very well endowed, here. Clitoris my fuck!

I sucked in air as I felt Logan take my cock and balls in hand and he began fitting the cage over both. It was an unusual device as it had room for both my cock and my balls. I had never seen one like this. And it had nubs on the inside. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what those were for. It was going to be a tight fit.

“I have a very ample cock,” I said softly. I let out a few gasps as he moved my junk around inside the cradle of the cage and prepared to clamp it down.

“Dom Boone, maybe,” Logan said. His eyes snapped up briefly from his concentration on the cage and locked into my gaze. “But you are not Dom Boone. Not tonight. You’re my sub. You’re Kent’s sub. You have no cock. You have a clitoris. The only REAL MAN’s COCKs around here are mine and Kent’s.”

I blinked several times. Whatever Kent had put in that quadruple double bourbon and I drank down in record time was starting to kick it.

“Consider yourself castrated Boonie. You don’t have a cock. You have a clit to go with your pussy cunt.”

I don’t have a pussy cunt. I don’t have a clit.

“I don’t have a pus….”

“You’ll have one when we shove our REAL MAN’s COCKs in you and fuck your brains out during the scene,” Kent said confidently. “Like Logan said, you’re castrated and you have a clit and you will have a pussy cunt when we’re done breeding you.”

Whatever was in that drink, it was really starting to swirl in my brain. I was fogging slightly. Just then, a blinding white light spread through my head. My eyes must have gone the size of dinner plates before settling back to near normal—though slightly glazed.

“Castrated. Clit. Pussy cunt,” I said flatly.

“That’s right, boy. You’re castrated. You have a clit. A ‘caged’ clit,” Logan said as he snapped the cage into place and locked it. “Not only do you have a clit, you have a caged clit.”

My two best friends had just castrated me? They had just given me a clit? Caged my clit?

“Clit. Caged clit. Pussy cunt,” I said raggedly. My mouth was suddenly starting to feel as if it had a handful of cotton balls in it.

“That’s right, boy,” Kent affirmed. “We’ve castrated you. You have a caged clit now. And soon, you’ll have a pussy cunt built for REAL MAN’s COCKs fucking and breeding you.”

My boundaries were blurring quickly. Just like I had asked Kent to make happen. My brain was soaking it all in. Already.

My best friends castrated me. I have a clit. A caged clit. In short order, they will drill a pussy cunt into me. A pussy cunt for REAL MAN’s COCK to fuck and breed.

A knock on the door drew Logan and Kent’s attention. ‘15 minutes’ someone called out.

Logan and Kent exchanged glances. Kent was holding something up for Logan to see; I couldn’t make out what it was from my angle.

Logan looked back to me and made a thorough, very slow examination of what I had to offer. I think he was beginning to get into the idea of what was happening. Of what was about to happen once we left his dressing room and went to The Arena. The Arena filled with over five hundred paying ticket holders, staff, special guests….

“We’re going to do something unusual, here, Boonie,” Logan said with a strange twinkle in his eyes.

I snorted. I couldn’t help it.

Like what we’ve been doing the last hour hasn’t been unusual?

He ignored my snort. Which made me swallow visibly. Somehow I thought ‘unusual’ in this case meant I was going to be hit with another surprise from my two friends.

“I’m listening,” I said finally. I have to admit, I was intrigued.

“We’re going to give you a choice,” Logan advised.

“A…choice?”

“Make no mistake about it, when you are up on the center stage in The Arena, you will get fucked. Kent and I are going to drill you a pussy cunt and we’re not going to stop until you are very well and thoroughly bred.”

I broke my full attention on Logan and shot a quick glance to Kent. He was standing a short distance away and was holding something just out of a clear view from me.

“I’m listening,” I said with just the faintest twinge in my usually confident tone.

“Easy boy. Easy,” Logan said with a firm grip on my shoulder. “Here’s the deal. As I said, you will get your brains fucked out. You will get bred by us. Your choice is this. One, do you want to go out there and get your brains fucked out in front of everyone without any preparation for your virgin hole. Or, two,” Kent stepped up beside Logan and held up a very large, very thick, quite frankly—intimidating hot pink butt plug with a hot pink diamond-like base. “Or, choice number two,” Logan repeated, “We plug you in here, before we head out there, and we keep you plugged until it is ‘fuck time’.”

I almost laughed. I really almost laughed. But I held it back.

The fact of the matter is, Hollywood heartthrob or not, I had a virgin butthole. No one had ever gone deep. Logan and Kent had two of the biggest cocks I had ever seen. Two huge, anaconda-like cocks that would very soon be turning me into a bitch. A fully cunted bitch. A cunted bitch that was dripping with their loads before they were done.

Quite frankly, even with whatever Kent had put in the bourbon which was beginning to make me relax into it all and was starting to make my brain swirl around like it was at the center of a newly forming vortex, I could probably use all the help I could get before I took those two cocks.

This was quickly going from ‘this shit is real, real fast’ to ‘holy shit, this is real. We’re really doing this’ mode.

The choice was clear.

“Plug me, please.”

“Good boy,” Logan said.

“Proud of you, buddy,” Kent added as he handed the plug to Logan and then stepped over to the table closest to where we were standing—well, them standing and me hanging by my wrists on the wall behind me anyway—and he returned with a pump bottle of lube.

“I’m going to take you down from the wrist bands,” Logan said. “You will step over to that table,” he pointed to a table in the center of the room. “You will bend over and spread your legs wide. We will lube up the plug and you very thoroughly and then work it in.”

I studied the monstrous, hot pink, bejeweled plug for several moments. It was ribbed and studded all over the shaft that expanded tremendously from the tip to the bulbous ‘bottom’ that would click and lock itself inside my hole when it got there.

“Does that thing vibrate,” I asked as my arm came down and Logan massaged my bicep for a moment.

“It does a lot of things,” Kent offered with a slyly sinister chuckle.

Fuck! What the hell?

Per instructions, I walked over to the table that Logan had indicated. I took a deep breath, willing my rising nerves to submit just as I was submitting more and more by the second. Maybe I should have asked Kent to quadruple double the ‘additional’ favors that he put into that bourbon? On the other hand, I had watched him put at least four doses of whatever it was into the drink already. Or, was it ‘five’ doses?

I bent over the table, spreading my arms up and out for balance and steadying, I spread my legs out to the side as wide as I could. And, I waited. It didn’t take long before I felt someone’s hands spreading my cheeks wide and I felt the cool lube being poured down my crack and a finger began circling and gently tapping at my rosebud.

Here we go, I thought. Another finger was added shortly and they were both circling and tapping at my ‘bud’ and began poking at its center.

“Good boy,” Logan said rather huskily. “Just relax, boy. We’ve got you. We’ll take good care of you.”

Thankfully, they did ‘have me’ and were taking great care, here. Soon I felt those two fingers push inside. Not long after that, they were going deep to the second knuckle of whomever owned the ‘hand’ those fingers were attached to. Not long after that, I felt a third finger and then shortly after that, a fourth.

“Easy boy,” Logan said calmly. He smacked my right cheek—hard enough to leave a hand print, I was sure—and he began fucking and twisting those four fingers in and out of my never before invaded hole. I let out a whimper as one of his fingers hit a fireworks button and I gasped and shuddered. “That’s it, boy. That’s it. Let me in. Take it for me. Give it up for me so we can get you plugged.”

I sucked in air and spread my legs even wider. I could do this. Remember the kids this charity function will help, I kept telling myself.

I lost track of time. My brain was really muddied now from the bourbon and whatever Kent added to it. My body was relaxing and I realized I was actually rising up to meet each stroke of Logan’s fingers. All too soon—something that I thought I would never admit in a million years—those long and strong fingers left my butt. I let out a groan of wanton urgency for them to go back in.

“Easy, boy,” Logan said with a chuckle. “We’ve got something else for you now.”

It turned out that it was Kent who was holding the well-lubed plug and placed it firmly against my twitching rosebud. He rubbed it up and down over my hole a few times and spun it around a few more times before he started applying pressure. Pressure. Pressure. More pressure.

Holy fuck! It’s huge!

I let out one groan after another, mixed with hissing, whimpers, and more than one ‘fuck’ and yelp. Each time, Logan or Kent said to ‘relax boy’ or ‘good boy’ or ‘you can take it, boy’ and rubbed my shoulders or back or landing hard slaps to my ass cheeks. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Somewhere in the outer reaches of my ever-expanding universe, I heard another knock at the door followed by ‘10 minutes!’.

“I don’t know if I can ta….” I started to say but immediately changed it to “Oh fuck!” The enormous, flared end of the plug sank in and my tremendously expanding pucker lips closed around it and sealed it in place. “Fuck! Fuck! Oh fuck!”

“Good boy!” Logan patted my head and ran his fingers through my perfectly coifed hair like I was some friggin’ Labrador. “Good boy! You did it, boy. You took it like a pro.”

“I’m impressed,” Kent added. “It fits you like it belongs there. Maybe you’ve been a closeted bottom all this time,” he added with a chuckle. “Good boy, Boone. Good boy.”

Hands slowly pulled me upright from where I had been clinging for dear life to the table. They held me steady on my feet until my shaking legs and rubbery knees caught up with me. I was unceremoniously marched back to the wall with the cuffs and against my gurgled protests I was attached to them once again and was soon hanging from the rafters.

A knock at the door was followed by ‘7 minutes!’

Kent held up a remote and grinned wickedly.

Yep. The plug did tricks.

He pressed a button and the monster in my hole began vibrating and I swear—gyrating. He held the ‘fuck finger’ of his right hand to another button and the vibrations increased by the second until I was whimpering and moaning like a bitch in heat. My cock tried to react, but it wasn’t going anywhere or getting hard at all trapped inside that cage.

I started to say something, but words were quickly overpowered when Logan stepped up and put a ball gag in my mouth.

Fuck! They weren’t holding back. Fuck! I told them not to hold back. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! They ‘listened to me’ for fucking sake!

No sooner had Logan slipped the ball gag into my mouth and secured it with the strap around the back of my head than Kent replaced him to stand in front of me. He held up a couple of coated alligator clips with hooks on them. Before I could protest, not that I could with the ball gag in my mouth, he reached out with one hand and pinched my left nipple and pulled it from my chest and then attached a clip to it before releasing it. The clip’s teeth bit into my nipple, even coated as it was. He followed the same procedure with my right nipple. The alligator teeth bit into my nipple. I winced and whimpered around the ball gag.

“Easy boy,” Kent said as he stroked the back of his right hand over my pecs. “Easy. Maybe this will help.”

Help? Seriously?

He produced a pair of weights out of one of the pockets of his black leather vest and attached one to the left clip and the other to the right. He left them dangling from my nipples. I whimpered more. He shook his head as if dissatisfied with the appearance.

“Maybe we should double the weights? Yeah, I think we should,” he said as he produced two more weights. He proceeded to hang a second weight each from the nipple clips.

“There, that’s better. Half a pound hanging from each tit,” he said with a satisfied grin creasing his handsome, baseball player’s face.

“Nice,” Logan commented when he saw the results of Kent’s labors. “Double it.”

My eyes must have gone wide as saucers. Double it? That meant—calculating. Calculating. Whimpering—16 ounces of weights? On each nipple? Holy fuck. No way. No fucking way!

Kent grinned and said he liked the way Logan thought. He walked over to the table where he had been grabbing lube, plug, remotes, whatever else as they ‘prepped’ me for the scene out in The Arena and he picked up four more weights. He came back and proceeded to hook them through the same loop that the previous weights were attached to and suddenly, I had 1 pound of weights hanging from each of my nipples.

I let out several long groans when Kent let go and left them to dangle. The weight made the alligator clips bite into my nipples even more. Thank goodness they were coated. At least those teeth wouldn’t cause any damage. Of course, if they left them attached for very long, I would start getting tits.

A knock came at the door. ‘Two minutes!’ the person on the other side of the door called out.

“Show time,” Logan said. He reached up and uncuffed my arms and brought them down. He took a moment to rub and massage each arm to loosen them up after being restrained for so long. Next, he reached into his little bag of tricks and pulled out two leashes. He handed one to Kent and they took turns hooking their leash into the right and left side of my collar. One more trick out of the bag. A black leather mask with eye openings, a mouth opening and nostril openings. Each opening could be zippered shut as the Master or Dom sought fit.

A mask? I couldn’t ask since I had the gag in my mouth but he saw the question.

“Anticipation,” Logan said. “Everyone is expecting a celebrity sub tonight but we don’t want to reveal who you are from the very moment we enter The Arena. We’ll guide you through the throng, naked, caged, collared, plugged and masked until we’re on stage. Then, we’ll unmask you—present you to the crowd—our celebrity sub.”

“A grand reveal, if you will,” Kent chimed in.

Logan proceeded to slide the full mask over my head and down over my face. He and Kent tugged and adjusted until it was in proper place, my eyes and nostrils at the respective openings.

“And your safe word is….” Logan was very well aware of my safe word, as was Kent. He was verifying that ‘I’ remembered.

“Firehose,” I said around the gag as best I could.

“Good boy.” Logan reached up and zipped the eye openings closed. What the fuck? “Trust, Boonie. Trust. Put your faith in your two Doms. We’ve got you. We won’t let anything happen while you’re eyes are blacked out.”

Moments later, they tugged on the leashes in perfect sync and walked me across the room to the door.

"One more thing, Boonie,” Logan said as he pulled up at the door. Kent’s hand was already on the knob.

“The moment we walk through this door, I am no longer Logan. He is no longer Kent. From this moment on, you refer to us as ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’…‘Master Kent’ or ‘Master Logan’. You are our sub and you will show us the respect that we deserve. Any responses from you will be accordingly offered. ‘Yes Sir’. ‘No Sir’. ‘Thank you, Sir’. Or ‘Master’, as appropriate.” Logan tugged on my mask one more time to make sure of the ‘fit’. “Got it, boy?”

“Ympth,” I said. My voice sounded weird hearing it through a leather mask covering my ears. Of course, with the ball gag it sounded more like some extraterrestrial being’s language anyway. But Logan seemed to hear it just fine.

Logan pulled a remote out of the pocket of his vest and pushed a button. An electric charge jolted through my balls and my cock. Er, my clit and sack as they so readily told me it would now be referred as.

“Aarrgghh!” Again, my scream was muddled through the gag but it was plain I wasn’t happy.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, your clit cage is charged to send electro bolts through your clit and clit sack.” He pushed the button again for emphasis.

“Aarrgghh!”

“By the time the evening is over, you may have a very fried clit and sack,” Logan said. Kent snickered. “How do you address us? Your superiors? Your Doms?”

“Thir. Thir,” I said as best I could around the gag. I felt my cock and balls vibrate and twitch from those two electro shocks. My clit and sack, I mean. “Thir, Maphter. Maphter Kent. Maphter Logan. Mmph Domths. I your thub.”

“Good boy,” Logan said with a nod to Kent. He pushed the button on the remote again and another jolt went through my clit and sack.

“Aarrgghh!”

Fuck that hurt! I may never get a boner again if he kept it up with that remote.

“Just making sure you know your place,” Logan said sternly.

“Yeths, Thir.”

“Good boy.”

Kent turned the knob and they led me out into the corridor. Naked, collared, caged, plugged, nipples weighted and masked.

END of Chapter 3

To be continued . . .

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